


Remnants of a Clockwork Loop

by WeirdKelsey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Weird West, Explicit Sexual Content, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, TheirLoveWasReal, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdKelsey/pseuds/WeirdKelsey
Summary: A steam-age advancement gives humanity control over time. Dean and Castiel are trapped in one of the endless wars that inevitably follows.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 14
Collections: Their Love Was Real: a Destiel & Saileen Fanworks Challenge





	Remnants of a Clockwork Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the #TheirLoveWasReal mods for putting together this challenge, without whom I would never have come up with this (admittedly weird) concept.
> 
> While I have notebooks full of concepts and fragments of scenes, this is the first fic I've finished to a point where it could be posted. So, hope you don't hate it! _finger guns_

* * *

  


Beware the graveyard angel  
Who stalks the damned and dead  
Or your corpse infused with arsenic  
Will be sent to battle once again  
  
_\- Traditional Epigram, mid-1800’s_

  


* * *

  


When Dean Winchester spots the angel for the first time, a violent shiver runs down his spine. He’s in a vulnerable position, crouched in the mud over a broken automaton with his hands caught deep in the gear works. By comparison, the angel on the boardwalk only a few feet away towers intimidatingly over him.

Whispers about angels make their way around the fire in the dead of night, but none of those stories adequately capture the creature that stares down at Dean now. It wears a pale duster that quivers in the breeze, the only movement betraying its motionless form. A bandolier filled with glass vials is slung across its chest, and it clutches a large syringe in a gloved hand.

Beneath the brim of the angel’s hat, where a face should be, there is only a featureless mask of light. Dean tries to study it, to find some shape hidden in the glow, but each time he focuses too hard or too long, a sharp pain burrows into the base of his skull and some primal urge forces him to blink.

Dean doesn’t try to move away. He watches the angel until the clock runs out.

  


* * *

  


During the next loop, when Dean reaches Main Street, the angel is already there. Its pale mask turns toward him briefly before it resumes its grisly work, plunging a syringe into the remains littering the ground. Red splatters against the angel’s coat.

There is a mostly-intact automaton sprawled on the general store steps. Dean keeps the angel in his view as he moves toward the machine, then positions himself with the solid store wall against his back as he gets to work.

He glances up several times throughout the hours that follow, but the angel pays him no mind.

By the end of the loop, Dean’s pack is filled with valuable gear assemblies and steam cores that can be reused, and his journal is filled with notes that will improve the automaton design. With an uncomfortable tug, the anchor reels him in, while time ripples and coils back into place.

  


* * *

  


“Through advancements in harnessing steam power, the Bradbury Device allows us to create anchor points within the entropic flow. With this device, we can manipulate the passage of time.”  
  
_\- Inventor Charlie Bradbury, Centennial International Exhibition of 1876_

  


* * *

  


Dean lifts his hand in a tentative greeting when he meets the angel in the third loop.

There shouldn’t be any reason for them to hurt one another here. The angel may be tethered to the enemy, but it seems as though its job is the same as Dean’s — recovering resources and intelligence to bolster their forces before another brutal round of battle can begin. They aren’t meant to be combatants. Not really.

The angel’s head tilts to the side in silent consideration and pauses long enough for Dean to worry that he’s made a mistake. Maybe it would like to kill him after all.

A minute later, when the angel waves its hand in a surprisingly human gesture, Dean lets out a startled laugh.

  


* * *

  


“There’s a rumor that the Divine Guard has taken over the northwest rail line. Would explain the stock shortage Garth is having. I’ll need you to bring some extra supplies when you head back this way. Stay safe and steer clear of the gravediggers.”  
  
_\- Jody Mills in a letter to Donna Hanscum, 1878_

  


* * *

  


During the tenth loop, one of the big undead bastards wedges itself underneath a wagon to escape the fight. Dean doesn’t notice it until it lunges, slamming him face down into the dirt so hard that spots darken his vision. He chokes on the stench of rotting death and thrashes until his elbow connects with a loud crunch. But the corpse only snarls and clings tighter undeterred, its fingers raking harshly across Dean’s back while he yells.

A sudden gunshot cracks through the air and the corpse slumps forward, its decaying face hitting the ground. Dark blood spills from a gaping wound, and Dean twists away as far as he can while still partially pinned down by the body.

The angel is standing over him, clutching a revolver.

Dean instinctually reaches for his holster. It’s empty, and it takes him a few dazed moments to recognize the gun in the angel’s hand is his own, knocked free at some point during the tussle. His blood runs cold. He is vulnerable and exposed, pinned under the undead monstrosity as the angel stares down. 

Dean’s entire body tenses as the angel bows toward him, but it only sets the revolver down next to his hip and then grabs the corpse by the back of the collar, lifting it away easily.

Dean collapses back into the dirt to catch his breath. When a shadow blocks out the sun a few seconds later, he opens his eyes to find the angel standing over him again, this time holding out Dean’s worn Stetson.

“Oh hey, thanks.”

A swell of blinding light passes across the angel’s mask, and Dean flings the hat over his eyes to protect himself from the searing blaze. By the time he chances another look around, the angel is moving away, leaving a crimson trail of blood as it drags the corpse out of sight.

  


* * *

  


“Are you a Mechanic? Technician? Artificer? The United Frontier Infantry is looking for engineers to develop and maintain our units of cutting-edge clockwork automatons. Serve in Whiskey Company under Captain Bob Singer.”  
  
_\- Recruitment Pamphlet, late-1800’s_

  


* * *

  


Around loop eighteen, Dean needs a break.

He’s tired and frustrated before he even steps into town. Command won’t commit to an end loop—they just keep throwing him back in with more demands. Each time he returns to the anchor it takes hours to discuss the changes that need to be made before the next battle. And the list of changes only grows longer with each loop.

Dean doesn’t stop to scavenge as he moves along the boardwalk. He kicks aside the flesh and mechanical corpses that block his path and shoves through the doors of Crowley’s Saloon.

Inside the saloon, oil lamps hang from a tin-plated ceiling. Dark wood slats cover the walls, and a paneled bar stretches along the length of the empty building. Several chairs are tipped onto the floor, and the remnants of an unfinished card game cover a table. The townsfolk of Purgatory had been given only hours to flee before the first loop of battle began.

Dean slides behind the bar to pick out the most expensive bottle of whiskey he can find, then settles onto a stool and pours himself a glass. It doesn’t take long for the numbing warmth to spread through him. Several refills later, something moves through the saloon doors, and Dean doesn’t even notice.

When the angel sits down next to him, Dean nearly falls off his stool.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can tell its face is turned toward him, but each time he tries to look more closely, an agonizing stab of pain forces him away. The mask’s warding is overwhelming at this distance. So keeping his eyes forward, Dean leans over the bar and pulls a clean tumbler from the shelf.

“Don’t know if you drink, angel.” Dean pours a full measure of whiskey into the glass and slides it along the bartop. “But that’s all I plan on doing today.”

“Castiel.”

“What was that?"

The angel reaches up and with a faint click, a humming that Dean hadn’t even realized he could hear fades away. The light goes out, and the mask is pulled down.

“That’s my name. Castiel.”

Dean knows he’s staring, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Because underneath the mask, the angel looks like a man. A shockingly handsome man with bright blue eyes and a deep gravelly voice, but just a man nevertheless.

And the man — Castiel is staring back.

“Do you not want me to know your name?”

“Oh! Sorry, uh, I’m Dean.” He lets out an embarrassed laugh and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I just— you look… Honestly, I had started wondering if the mask even came off.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of whiskey.

“Strictly speaking, I’m not permitted to remove it during a loop. That would undermine the psychological edge they’re designed to give us.” Castiel pauses before asking, “are you planning on turning me in?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffs. “I’m sure that would go great for both of us. Whenever you’re ready, just lead me to your camp, and I’ll have a nice chat with your commanders.”

Castiel turns back to his glass with an amused smile, and Dean allows himself a moment to study his exposed profile.

“How does it work? The mask, I mean.”

“Besides a few warding sigils that I’m familiar with, the mechanics are beyond my understanding. But, you’re welcome to examine it for yourself.” Castiel flips the mask over so that the metallic interior is facing upwards and places it in front of Dean.

“Seriously? You’re just handing it over? You know I’m an engineer, right? Isn’t that, I don’t know, disclosing classified information or sharing military secrets, or something?”

“Probably.” Castiel shrugs.

The inside of the mask is a curve of smooth copper and sparse leather padding, held in place with tiny screws. Dean pulls a matching screwdriver from his toolkit, and the first bolt is removed before he even thinks to ask permission. But when he glances up, Castiel is observing his work with interest, seemingly unconcerned.

With the screws loosened, Dean removes the copper plate, revealing the inner workings. It’s far less complex than the automatons, but the components are densely packed to fit inside the mask, and Dean guesses it’s probably a bitch to repair. He prods at the wires and vacuum tubes, gently moving them out of the way so he can study the layers underneath. There is a mess of gears that propel the lighting across the face, and Dean spends several minutes fascinated, trying to figure out how it functions continually without snagging the filaments.

“What are we drinking to?” Castiel asks, breaking the silence.

“Ain’t exactly a celebration, Cas.”

“I see.” Castiel picks up the whiskey bottle and tops off Dean’s glass, then his own. “What sorrows are we drowning?”

Dean laughs and looks up, ready to rattle off some vague nonsense that won’t merit further discussion. But Castiel is watching him attentively. He looks almost concerned, and Dean feels something shift — some invisible wall that had already begun to crumble topples. He trusts Castiel with the truth, no matter how treacherous it may be.

“I guess it finally hit me just how stupid and pointless this whole battle is. I’m not sure what it’s like for you, but the leaders on my side, I don’t think they have a goal. They keep resetting the loop for better results, changing the smallest things, but there’s always going to be something else they’re unhappy with. Even if, by some miracle, they get a perfect loop, it wouldn’t matter because I assume your side is doing the same.”

Castiel nods in understanding. “You believe the battle will loop endlessly because there’s no way to satisfy both sides at once.”

Dean picks up his glass and raises it towards Castiel in a toast.

“Hope you don’t mind spending eternity together, Cas.”

  


* * *

  


Over the next few loops, Dean and Castiel fall into some semblance of a routine. On most days they meet near Crowley’s and move through the town together, talking as they work. Cas doesn’t bother to wear his mask, instead keeping it hooked onto his bag until it’s time for the loop to reset.

  


* * *

  


Dean is dragging an automaton out of the corral during the fifty-third loop when an explosion reverberates throughout Purgatory. There’s a cloud of smoke billowing up from Silver Street, and Dean sprints towards it.

The east wall of the assay office is collapsed, and the entire building lists dangerously to one side.

Dean spots the signs of a nitroglycerin blast and frowns as he circles the building from a distance. They had started stocking some modified automatons with nitro caps, but the charges should have been detonated much earlier, while the battle was still raging.

If there were automatons wandering around with unexpended nitro when Dean entered the town, they could have killed him. They could have hurt—

He freezes and spins around, searching the area. Surely Cas would have heard the explosion too and come to investigate. Why wasn’t he here?

“Cas?” Dean shouts. His voice echoes back to him, and then a moment later, there’s a faint clatter inside the assay office.

Dean swears and climbs into the building, taking care not to jostle the most precarious rubble.

“Cas, buddy, you in here?” The room is filled with debris and it takes Dean a few minutes to find a path further in. Cas is there, hidden beneath part of an automaton, and Dean’s heart sinks as he sees the blood pooling on the floor.

Dean pulls the scraps away, uncovering Castiel as carefully as he can, and kneels down next to him. His mask is wedged under a crate, and Dean pulls it free and ties it onto Castiel’s pack.

“Dean?” Cas rasps.

“Hey!” Dean leans forward so that Cas can see him as he blinks dazedly. Dean reaches out a hand and gently cradles his face. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

Cas’s breathing is labored as he slips in and out of consciousness. There’s a gash at his temple, and his torso is specked with shrapnel.

Dean tugs at the band of vials fastened around Cas’s chest. “What about these? Cas, can any of these help you?”

“Only if I’m dead,” he mumbles, and Dean lets out a distraught laugh.

“I need you to hang on, Cas.” Dean searches through Cas’s pockets until he finds the only thing he can think of to help — the tether that keeps him in the loop. To the untrained eye it looks like a pocket watch, and Dean lifts it up to double-check the winding. “Just hang on. I’m gonna send you back to the anchor so you can get help, alright?”

Cas doesn’t reply. His eyes are closed and his head lolls to the side.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’ll be fine, Cas.”

Dean wraps Cas’s fingers around the tether and forces his thumb down against the crown. With a click, Cas flashes out of sight.

When Dean returns to his anchor, covered in blood that isn’t his own, he strikes nitroglycerin from the battle plan and snaps at anyone who dares to suggest it be added back.

  


* * *

  


As the next loop begins, Dean walks to the center of town and sits down on the steps outside Crowley’s. He waits for hours but Cas never appears.

Cas is missing from the loop after that as well.

After a third loop without Cas, Dean starts asking if anyone at the anchor knows where the Divine Guard forces are camped. He has a half-baked plan to search for Cas there, if he can only find out where to go.

In total, five loops pass before Castiel appears in Purgatory again. Dean nearly knocks the wind out of Cas, in his hurry to pull him into a hug.

“I’m okay,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s cheek while Dean holds on to the back of his coat. “It took a few loops to recover, but I’m okay now.”

  


* * *

  


“A Bradbury loop becomes less stable the longer it is held open. Keeping multiple entities tethered to a loop long-term may have consequences we can’t yet understand.”  
  
_\- Kevin Tran, Smithsonian Institution Mathematics Symposium, 1882_

  


* * *

  


“The storm is moving closer.”

Cas’s face is turned heavenward, eyes fixed on the towering dark clouds rolling towards Purgatory. Gusts of wind heavy with electrostatic tear at his duster and threaten to send his hat flying.

“I don’t get it,” Dean says. “It hasn’t rained once since we got here. Why would that change?”

“Another force we’re unaware of could be trying to alter the loop.”

“Oh, great. That’s a comforting thought. Thanks, Cas.”

Dean pokes at a body splayed out on the ground. The skin is blackened and shiny along its right flank where it’s been badly scorched, and a patch of bright orange chemical agent has burrowed through the flesh of its left leg, revealing glimpses of bone. The other engineers have started sending in experimental weapons that might be more effective against the undead, and Dean is supposed to be recording the results from the battlefield.

He guesses his orders weren’t meant to include Cas standing next to him while he works — or maybe ‘stay away from the enemy’ is just one of those ubiquitous rules he’s expected to know and follow without anyone explicitly saying so — but Dean stopped feeling guilty about it ages ago.

He can describe almost everything about the loop with one of two words:

> Unsettling — _Like how he has to trim his hair and beard every dozen loops because apparently, he is still growing older despite time rewinding around him._
> 
> Infuriating — _Like how he has to have the exact same argument with Bobby over and over because the stubborn old captain doesn’t like his written reports. Reports that Dean started keeping precisely so that he wouldn’t have to have the same conversations repeatedly._

Cas doesn’t fall into either of those categories. In fact, Cas’s presence is the only thing Dean really enjoys about the loop. So even though it might piss off the Infantry if they find out, Dean plans on sticking close to Cas as often as he can.

“Dean, your automatons are constructed from a highly conductive material, correct?”

“Huh?” Dean scribbles another measurement into his journal. Raindrops dampen the page. “Yeah, the housing is mostly copper and brass.”

“Then I think it’s time for us to move to a more sheltered location.”

Dean glances up. Lightning crackles through the purple clouds as the storm reaches the edge of town. The wide street is littered with broken metal automatons, and Dean and Cas are standing at the center.

“Okay, yeah, point taken.”

As the trickling rain turns rapidly into a downpour, Dean swears and yanks Cas towards the closest row of buildings, but before they can stumble through a door painted with ‘Wayward Boarding’ their clothes are soaked. They huddle together in the threshold dripping on the rug and catching their breath as thunder rumbles overhead.

“I’m going to take a look around,” Cas says. When he doesn’t immediately move away, Dean turns to see Cas watching him questioningly. “Dean?”

Cas gently shifts his arm, and Dean slowly realizes his fingers are still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the skin at the edge of his glove. _Oh._ The darkening storm is leaching the color out of the town and Dean hopes it helps hide his blush as he lets go and takes a step backward. “Uh yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”

The boarding house isn’t fancy, although it is cozy and clean. Dean feels bad about the muddy footprints he leaves on the floor until he reminds himself that the loop will erase the mess. He follows Cas down the hall, peeking into each doorway they pass. A sitting room with shelves of books and games. A dining room with a huge table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A small but well-stocked kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, a window faces into town, and Dean pauses to look through the glass while Cas explores the nearby bedrooms.

“I don’t think we’ll be getting any more work done today.” The street below is starting to flood, and undead and automatons are sliding away in the mud. Lighting strikes somewhere nearby, sending a shudder through the building.

“What a shame.” Cas’s dry response comes from much closer than Dean is expecting, and a second later his chest presses against Dean’s back. “You’re warm,” Cas comments, as though that’s the only justification he needs to rest his stubbled jaw against the juncture between Dean’s neck and shoulder and make Dean shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the damp fabric clinging to his skin.

“Yeah? Is this the part where I say ‘let’s get you out of those wet clothes?’”

There’s a hushed pause as rain pelts against the glass.

“If you like.”

Dean has to swallow a few times before he has enough control over his voice to say “Okay.”

He turns away from the window and catches Cas’s mouth with a soft kiss. Their lips brush against each other, gently at first, but quickly becoming more insistent as Dean reaches up and grazes his fingers along Cas’s jaw.

Cas steps backward, his hands firm on Dean’s hips as he blindly leads them through an open door. Dean pushes his hat out of the way, letting it fall to the floor as they move, then he knocks Cas’s hat aside as well and slides his fingers through Cas’s hair. When he sighs, Cas licks into his mouth.

They break apart long enough to drop their packs and gear. Cas pulls off his gloves and shrugs out of his duster. Dean takes off his holsters and sets his guns on the dresser while he kicks off his boots.

Cas has to bend to pull off his stubborn boots by hand. The movement leaves him slightly off-balance, and Dean takes the opportunity to crowd him up against the nearest wall, slotting a thigh between his legs. Cas rolls his hips forward instinctively, making them both gasp.

Cas tips his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut, and Dean mouths at his exposed throat, alternately scraping teeth against the skin and laving the sting away with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands trail over Cas’s sides and stomach before coming to a rest at his waist.

While Dean unbuckles Cas’s belt with one hand, his other hand dips lower, knuckles grazing across the head of Cas’s dick through his trousers, and Cas lets out a low whine, his fingertips digging into Dean’s biceps. With the belt out of the way, Dean tugs the zipper down and pushes into Cas’s pants to touch him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean mumbles against Cas’s neck. Cas is hot and hard in his grip, and Dean swipes his thumb across the tip before stroking a few times, smearing precome as he works along the length.

Cas grabs Dean’s wrist, holding him still. When Dean looks up, Cas is breathing heavily but staring at him with focus.

“Take your clothes off now,” he growls, and then he’s forcing Dean away from the wall and pawing at the buttons of his vest.

Pants and shirts are discarded as they move across the room, and before long Dean is being pushed into the pillows and Cas is pressing a line of kisses into his skin as he moves down the bed.

When he reaches Dean’s hips, Cas pauses to suck a bruise at the ridge of Dean’s pelvis, his fingers firm along the crease of Dean’s thighs to keep him from squirming. Then Cas moves again, licking at the head of Dean’s dick before sucking him into his mouth. Dean lets out a moan and grips the sheets, canting his hips upward in a slow thrust that fights against Cas’s grip.

Cas hums in approval and takes more of Dean into his mouth, rolling his tongue against the underside as he continues to suck. He slides a hand along the inside of Dean’s thigh, massaging the muscle as he goes, before brushing a light touch behind Dean’s balls.

Dean swears and goes still, willing himself to delay his rapidly approaching climax. He threads his fingers through Cas’s hair and tugs gently until Cas looks up and meets his eyes.

“Cas. Get up here.”

Cas pulls off and crawls up the bed to meet Dean, his knees nudging Dean’s thighs wider as he moves. When he’s close enough, Dean wraps a hand around the back of Cas’s neck and pulls him into a slow filthy kiss. He can taste himself on Cas’s tongue, and he moans as Cas pulls back just far enough to bite at his lower lip.

“Show me— what you— want next,” Cas says in the breaths between kisses

Dean runs his hands down Cas’s back then grabs his ass and yanks him forward and down. Cas’s thighs slip under Dean’s and the movement props his hips up at the perfect angle for their dicks to slide against each other.

Cas lets out a surprised gasp and has to take a moment to steady himself as he blinks down at Dean. But then he lowers his chest and pushes his hands under Dean’s shoulders to hold on. He kisses Dean sloppily and starts grinding against him with determination.

Dean matches Cas’s rhythm, thrusting up to meet him. He clutches at Cas’s back and then at his ass, losing himself in the sensation of Cas’s stomach tensing and flexing against his dick as they rut against one another.

“Feels so good, Cas,” Dean says breathlessly. “Not gonna be able to hang on much longer.”

“Go on. I want to see.”

Cas pushes himself up so that he can watch the seam where their bodies meet, and he rubs comforting circles into Dean’s thigh as he slowly rolls his hips forward in a hard grind. Dean comes with Cas’s name on his lips, spilling onto his own stomach.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas groans and snaps his hips forward, sliding through the slick mess until he reaches his own climax and then he collapses, nuzzling Dean through the afterglow.

Sometime later, before the one hundred twenty-sixth loop comes to an end, Dean is lying on his side, facing Cas. In the dim light of early evening, shadows fall across them like a cloak, but occasionally a flash of lightning illuminates the room, revealing Cas’s bright blue eyes. Their fingers are entwined, resting on the sheets between them.

“Dean?” Cas asks, breaking the quiet. “You once told me no one would know when the battle should end... That we would be trapped here because of it.”

Dean hums in acknowledgment. “I remember. Still believe it, but I guess it doesn’t seem like such a bad deal right now.”

“I’ve been thinking.” Cas hesitates, and Dean squeezes his hand before he continues. “There might be a way for us to break the loop. I think we could end it if we wanted to.”

Anxiety twists through Dean’s chest as he considers the unknowable future waiting outside the loop. The loop holds plenty of things he would easily leave behind. But, there are other things safe inside the loop that he doesn’t want to risk losing.

“What? You gettin’ sick of me already?” Dean laughs, but it sounds defensive to his own ears.

“Well, you are _very_ annoying.”

Cas rolls his eyes and pushes himself up onto an elbow. He untangles their fingers and caresses Dean’s face, his thumb gently tracing the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Dean, when you’re ready to leave this place, I’m leaving with you. I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go. If you’ll have me.”

“Oh,” Dean gasps eloquently. “Yeah, I— Cas— I’d like that.”

“I’m glad.” Cas smiles and drops down to press his lips against Dean’s in a promise.

As they part, Dean rolls them, coming to a rest on top of Cas, and settling his chin against Cas’s chest where they can still look at one another.

“So, how do we get out of the loop?” 

  


* * *

  


“A ceasefire has been ordered at the Battle of Purgatory after the malfunction and destruction of a Bradbury Device. Two men who were tethered to the device have not been seen since the explosion and have been declared killed in action.”  
  
_\- Rocky Mountain News, 1880_

  


* * *

  


When Dean Winchester sees the land for the first time, Cas is by his side, their horses trotting in tandem. It’s a good spot for a ranch — plenty of privacy but close enough to civilization that they don’t have to feel isolated ever again. When the day is clear, airships can be spotted along the horizon, making port in Dodge City.

Purgatory is far behind them, and there’s been no sign that their armies are interested in finding them.

On the first night, they stake out a plan for a house and then build a campfire in the bedroom. As they fall asleep under a blanket of stars, Dean holds Cas flush against his chest and nuzzles against his neck.

Together they build a home.

Their family grows.

And they _live_ , knowing that the loop can’t reset and take that away from them.


End file.
